


traditions

by Magali_Dragon



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Meet-Cute, The Old Gods (ASoIaF), Yuletide, and the fact I can’t be with my family this year like many others, i wrote this to celebrate Yule on Monday
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:29:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28262418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magali_Dragon/pseuds/Magali_Dragon
Summary: Dany meets Jon on a Northern holiday, and when they learn of a mutual friend between them, Jon invites her to celebrate a special holiday for him.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen
Comments: 51
Kudos: 334





	traditions

**Author's Note:**

  * For [NorthernLights37](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NorthernLights37/gifts).



> Soooo....I teased this on Tumblr and it caused some major upset as it is apparently (based off the moodboard and snippet) similar to another fic that was posted recently. I was accused of stealing the idea and making it my own and asked not to post my fic. I have never read the fic in question, wrote this to celebrate Yule, and have never adopted an idea that was not my own without permission. I really was hurt and torn up about this and didn’t want to post, but a couple friends actually encouraged me to because 1) no one owns tropes and 2) my fic is my writing and all my writing and if I want to share it I can. Any similarities are a horrible accident that were taken grossly out of context.
> 
> I’m still knotted up about this, but here it is. Enjoy.
> 
> (Also for Lights who listened to me crying and encouraged me not to just give up on everything. Thanks B!)

* * *

  
  
"Missandei, I don't know if I can keep shopping, my feet are frozen!" That was a total lie. Her feet were indeed frozen, even in her warm expensive snow boots she'd purpose solely for the trip up North, but Dany could shop until she dropped. She might do so quite literally, however, and only hung back a moment to shift her shopping bags in her hand and on her shoulder, and readjust her bag across her chest.

The extra poofy puffer jacket she also purchased for the trip was doing it's job, unlike the boots, and she was practically sweating inside. Could also have been her multiple sweaters and layers too. She blew a strand of silver hair out of her eyes, trotting to her best friend and current travel partner, who was studying a small, narrow window display beside a stationary store that Dany desperately needed to go into-- because she had a problem with purchasing stationary and never using it, but everything was so cute!-- once they finished whatever Missandei wanted.

She huffed a little. "What's this place?"

"No idea," Missandei commented, stepping back to look up at the old wooden sign, hanging off an iron bar out from beside the door. She pointed. "The Wolf Den." She peered into the window again. It was rather dark inside the shop, the wares of which they sold rather difficult to deduce based off the worn wooden exterior, the dusty objects in the window, and the name of the store.

It might have been a pet shop from the name or housewares as there were candles in the window, but also what looked like herbs and things. "Huh," Dany figured. She was curious. She moved to open the door. "Let's go in."

"Aw damn." MIssy's phone went off, buried somewhere in her bags. She smiled, apologetic. "Let me get this, I'll be in, in a moment. Here, leave your things with me."

Dany dumped her bags, considerably lighter now, and entered the shop. A tiny bell tinkled overhead. She glanced up at it, automatically, and noted there was mistletoe hanging over the entrance. She smirked; perhaps the owners were perverts and they wanted to see women kiss when they walked in together. She dropped her gaze to the rest of the store, immediately taken aback.

It was long and narrow, stuffed with bookcases, shelves, and tiny tables overflowing with random objects. The lights were low, the air heavy with incense, and painted on the wall behind what she assumed was the register, was a very intricate and detailed white tree, with red leaves, and a smiling face. It wasn't the smiling face that had her gasping, but the blood dripping out of its eyes and mouth.

"It's a hearttree."

The rough, heavily Northern accented voice came from somewhere deep in the shop-- or right beside her, Dany could not tell, briefly turning her head from side to side to pinpoint it. She realized it was a man, emerging from between two bookcases, like a wisp of smoke. He certainly looked like smoke-- all in black, his hair a tangled mess of inky curls, and dark beard covering his jaw. His eyes peered at her from a pale, narrow face, smokey gray and curious, glinting back the flickering candles along the register.

She cleared her throat, which was suddenly dry upon his appearance.. He was a very handsome man. Northerners never did much for her-- too full of their own self-importance or "high on their own farts" as her brother Viserys would say. They were often unkempt and rather scraggly looking in her experience. Mostly it was their attitude. They liked to think they were independent when they very clearly were desperate for the rest of the Six Provinces' support.

All those prejudices disappeared upon the sight of this man. He reached a hand up, rubbing idly at his jaw, following her gaze to the hearttree mural. He smirked. "It is a bit terrifying for the non-locals."

"Do you get many here?" she wondered, still unsure what a hearttree was and why it was so scary looking. If she knew, she'd forgotten it from her Westerosi History class in secondary school.

He smiled faintly. "No, not really. This shop tends to scare away the tourists." His eyes darkened, voice soft. "But not you, by the looks of it."

"Perhaps it's that tree that scares them."

"It's a hearttree."

"You say that like I should know what it is," she blurted out, snapping her jaw shut in slight embarrassment. She was something of a cynic when it came to mysterious and magical beliefs. Which was odd, given her family's history. She hesitated at his eyebrow raise. "Ah, sorry. I just...I don't recall them from school. What are they?"

"A type of weirwood tree," he said, walking around the counter and over to a display case, full of snowy white wooden carvings, each one threaded with faint red lines that made her think of spider veins. He took them out and showed her, pointing to the chalky wood. "They used to be all over Winterfell, but now they're only in the North. The heart-tree has a face carved into it for praying to the Old Gods. Some of them were carved by the Children of the Forest centuries ago, others are by humans."

She touched some of the intricate carvings in awe, smiling slightly at a couple that looked like howling wolves. "Wow, so is it crying or laughing then?"

He smirked. "Depends."

"On?"

"Your mood at the moment, I suppose."

She chuckled, shrugging. "I guess I understand that."

His gray eyes narrowed slightly and he moved to replace the weirwood carvings into their display case, gently placing them back on their velvet shelves. "Not much for religion then, huh?"

"Not particularly."

"You're Valyrian."

She shot him a sharp look; it was obvious she was and she didn't try to hide it like some of Valyrian ancestry. They were rare these days, someone with the pure look, she supposed, and she nodded curtly. "Yes." People had fetishes for those sorts of things. The silver hair and the purple eyes. Often it was derogatory, people accusing her family of being incestuous, that sort of thing, to keep it going. She was wary, watching his reaction. He didn't give one; instead, shoving his hands into his pockets and leaning back against the mural of the tree. She squinted. "And?"

He shrugged. "Nothing. Just commenting is all."

"Oh." She turned away from him and studied some jewelry. It was an odd little shop. She flicked at a set of earrings, watching the rubies on them reflect the candle beside it, shooting red glimmers over a ceramic wolf next to it. She kept moving, picking up things here and there, unsure what she was doing there still. It drew her in, whatever power this place held, the man at the front saying nothing to her.

She turned a corner and came face-to-face with him, putting a few books back onto a shelf. They were all old, spines weathered and the titles worn off. Something in this place would be perfect for her Uncle Aemon or her brother Rhaegar for the Christmas holiday. They loved these types of old things and were horrible to buy for. She tapped a couple of ht ebooks, still on edge, and glanced at the man, who continued to say nothing. "You're not a very good salesman you know," she blurted out.

He finally met her gaze again. "Oh?"

"Shouldn't you be trying to sell me things instead of just commenting on my ancestry and then leaving me alone?"

"It's not my shop."

She blinked, frowning. "Is that a trick question or something?" she laughed. "Then what are you doing here?"

"Belongs to my cousin. She had something to do today so I'm helping out." He was brusque, to-the-point. Northern, she supposed, they had a direct way of them. He finished stocking the books and turned around to face her again, hands going to his narrow hips, which she now noted as he was no longer on the other side of a high counter, were clothed in tight jeans that she had to imagine showcased a fine arse, if the rest of his body was any indication. He lifted his brows again. "I mentioned you were Valyrian because the Old Valyrians have some of the most interesting of the religious holidays and beliefs, which I know they gave up when the Targaryens conquered Westeros and adapted to the Faith of the Seven."

She wrinkled her nose; she hated people pawning their religion on her. It happened all the time in King's Landing, people on corners trying to convince you to join the Lord of Light's cause or else it was the High Sparrow trying to drag you to the sept to confess your sins to the Stranger. "The Targaryens believed in no gods," she corrected him.

He frowned. "Yes they did. The Fourteen Flames of Valyria. They named their dragons after them."

How little this know-it-all actually knew. She puffed her chest slightly, confident in at least this aspect of history. "No. You're wrong. Yes, Valryains believed in the Fourteen Flames, but Aegon the Conqueror converted and adopted the Faith of the Seven solely to ease his unification of the Seven Kingdoms," she argued. She smirked, crossing her arms over her chest. "Because like their dragons, Targaryens answer to neither gods nor men."

The strange Northern man suddenly smiled. His voice dropped to a whisper, knowledge dawning on him. "You're a Targaryen."

"Guilty as charged."

"I knew a Targaryen once." He turned away from her, walking to the front of the store. And yes, confirmed in fact that he did have a fantastic arse. She had to tear herself away from staring too long, chasing after him. He couldn't just leave it at that. She scowled at him, now in another aisle, this one filled with jars of herbs and spices and other assorted things that made her nose wrinkle and a sneeze start to build in the back of her throat. He laughed. "Maester Aemon. Taught me in military training."

"He's my uncle." She offered her hand, figuring it was beyond time for them to share names. "I'm Daenerys."

He gripped her hand quickly, shooting out so fast she almost didn't see, and then he squeezed her fingers, only to drop his hand away again. "Jon," he only said. He didn't give a last name. He took down a couple of jars of things, moving away again.

"So you know my uncle from the military? That means you were..." she trailed off, her eyebrows springing to her hairline. Very interesting sort of person, she thought, but said: "Night's Watch." The most mysterious of the Westerosi branches of the military.

He didn't say anything and began to fuss with the containers, removing some of the ingredients and placing them into smaller baggies. After a few minutes of silence, with her waiting it out, he sighed, nodding. "Aye, Night's Watch" He pointed towards the bookcases. "There's some interesting texts about Northern history and in particular the Old Gods you might find interesting for Maester Aemon, I think he'd like them. If you excuse me..."

"What's all that for?" She wanted to keep talking to him. He was an interesting character, this Jon, who was both rude and polite at once. She'd only met one other person like that and it was her so it didn't really count. Besides, maybe it was her cynical side, wondering if he could actually make her believe in anything else.

He looked at the dried roots and leaves, shrugging. "For something later."

"Like what?"

"You ask a lot of questions."

She was a journalist, so she supposed it came with the territory. "You don't give a lot of answers."

"I wouldn't expect you to understand," he retorted, sweeping away some of the excess of the dried flowers, which she thought smelled faintly like a Christmas tea. He gathered the baggies and placed them inside of a backpack on the floor, shoving it under the counter when he finished. He stood up, dusting his hands on his jeans, smirking. "Are you done browsing?"

Oh no way, she thought, shaking her head and chuckling. She looked around quickly and then nodded to a beautiful pine garland behind him, knotted and elegantly tied together with springs of blood-red ribbon and assorted holly and other foliage. "How much is that?"

"It's not for sale, it's decoration."

"Well then...what about all this stuff then? Huh? Tell me what it's for." She wanted to keep talking to him, because right now he was more interesting to her than shopping and through the cramped window display, she could see Missandei was still on the phone. The other option was going outside and standing with her and inside here was also nice and warm. The incense was making her a little sleepy, but the banter with this 'Jon' was also waking up a long-dormant fire in the bit of her belly.

And she wanted to see where this might lead.

She pointed to the various candle setups around the store, waving her hand in general. "I mean, the ambiance here. You're not a bookstore, but you're not strictly homegoods, so...what are you exactly?"

"Northern heritage."

"I've heard that term, it's what Northerners use as an excuse to be racist and xenopobic."

His pale cheeks colored slightly. "They are _not_ true Northerners," he spat, a red gleam in his gray eyes. It faded quickly and he settled. It was almost like a dog who got riled up and their fur flattened back down. Dany smirked, even more curious. He cleared his throat. "Sorry, but no, they are not true Northerners."

"And what's that then?"

"My family have lived in the North since the First Men settled here." He set his jaw. "Very few can claim they have the blood of the First Men. They settled in Westeros before even your Targaryens appeared. Made peace with the Children of the Forest."

"Didn't they also try to wipe them out?"

He scowled. "Yes, but they made peace and they even converted to the Children's religion. The Old Gods of the Forest."

"Ah, yes, that's why there's all this stuff out there now." She referred to the pine fronds, the cranberry garlands, and the holly sprigs around the store. It was the Winter Solstice that night. Their hotel had a little sign out front on the reception desk reminding them of that fact, how there would be a dinner and some sort of presentation about it all that night. She wanted to skip it, even if Missandei was curious. It wasn't really her thing.

"It isn't stuff," he said defensively. He cocked his head. "It's the Winter Solstice tonight. It's Yule."

"Yule? Oh, like Christmas."

"Not like Christmas," he immediately corrected. He sighed and stomped by her. She hid her giggle; it was kind of fun to get this man frustrated with her. He was obviously torn between wanting her to leave him alone and also wanting to educate her. It made for fun entertainment. He returned a second later with a book, turning and setting it down, pointing on the worn edged pages, which had vibrant hand-drawn and colored images of the weirwood tree and what she imagined were the Children of the Forest-- little tree like creatures-- bowing before it and offering berries, twigs, and other assorted items. He repeated himself. "It's Yule, the time to celebrate renewal and the change of the seasons. We're moving from the warmth and the regrowth into the cold and the dormant. We will reawaken in the springtime, but for now, we thank the Old Gods for the time we had and we look forward to the next."

He continued, his accent thick with his passion for the topic, and the raspy quality of it sending shivering little tingles down her spine. "The Old Gods are everywhere, you see, but it is easier for them to hear us when we go to them directly. We go to the hearttrees and we pray and on the longest night of the year, we celebrate because the Old Gods can see through the stars and everything than is anything is done beneath the stars." He turned a page, pointing again. "And Yule is also the time for family gatherings. We exchange presents and have feats. It's the North's biggest holiday." He rolled his eyes. "Except for the Long Night of course."

"And what's that?"

He snapped the book shut, chuckling. "You missed it by two months. It's the last day of October. The day we celebrate the defeat of the Night King."

The silly holiday where everyone dressed up. Yes, the Northerners got very into that one as well. "I believe a Dragon Queen, a Targaryen even, was responsible for that one," she snarked. She chuckled. "You northerners, taking credit for someone else's hard work."

He wrinkled his nose. "I don't ascribe to their version of events."

"No, you're pure like that." She took the book back from him, to his surprise, and flicked through the pages, admiring the detailed drawings. It was quite lovely, and would look nice in her office maybe. She shrugged. "I never knew much about this."

"Well of course, you answer to neither gods nor men."

"Nope," she chirped. She grinned. "But I have to admit, you got me. I am curious." It would make a nice feature article, she thought, ruminating briefly on how she could convince her editor to maybe pay for this trip as a research expense. The different religions of Westeros itself wasn't all that fascinating, since the majority were Seven worshippers, but looking at the North from a different perspective, the _true_ North. She ran her tongue over her teeth, shrugging. "So...tonight there will be these celebrations, yes?"

"I just said there could be."

"I imagine your cousin will be in attendance. If not yourself."

His back went up, eyes shuttering, almost black now. "Why do you think that?" he murmured.

He was right to be wary; a foreigner demanding to know about his religion, which he'd already given away was important to him, well that might be asking for too much trouble. She shrugged again and closed the book, hugging it to her chest. "Because," she said. She gestured around again. "Your cousin owns a store devoted entirely to Northern heritage and I believe probably even the Old Gods religion. It would lead one to assume that as it is Yule, she would be celebrating."

"Maybe she just likes weird crap and making money."

"You just said you don't get a lot of tourists."

A muscle ticked in his jaw. He walked into that one, she thought, grinning. She lifted her eyebrows again, continuing. "And well, you've got me hooked. I'm a tourist but I'd like to learn more. I would like to see one of these celebrations. I think it is only fair, you've shared a lot about it with me and I don't know...I think it'd be interesting." She lifted her brows, smiling politely. "And you know that as someone who is not very religious, I'm not going to try to convert you to 'my side' of things. I'd like to just..." She shrugged again. She didn't have much of anything to celebrate beyond hanging out with Missandei. Her family didn't really do Christmas or other big holidays. The idea of people gathering and celebrating just...it was nice to her. "Would you mind?"

He studied her a moment. Dany thought it was like getting an x-ray but without the lead protective vest. Everything tingled. After a second, he nodded curtly. "For Maester Aemon's niece, I suppose I can make an exception."

"Cool."

He tore off a piece of receipt paper, scribbling on it, and passed it over. "Meet me here. I'll drive you."

"I can't meet you?"

"It's a private godswood." At her questioning look, he elaborated. "Where the heartree sits, it's called a godswood. Where you can pray to the Old Gods. This one is private, I'll take you in."

Her heart thrummed against her chest, eager for her forthcoming experience. She set the book on the register, tapping it. "I want to buy this."

Jon rang it up and smiled, shoving it into a bag. "Guess I won a bet now."

"Oh?"

"My cousin bet me I'd chase all the customers away. Not only did you buy something, but you're getting a front row show to the Yule celebrations," he teased. He handed her the bag, waving. "See you at eight."

"Eight," she confirmed, studying him again.

He gave her another smile, a little shyer this time, and nodded to the bag, leaning his palms on the edge of the counter. “I hope Maester Aemon enjoys that book. I haven’t seen him in a long time.”

“Maybe I’ll have to arrange for you two to see each other again. I mean, what are the odds, right?” She licked her dry lips, stepping sideways and towards the door, waving briefly. “See you at eight Jon.”

“Bye.”

Dany left the store, the bell tingling again as she stepped out. She found Missandei on a bench nearby, just finishing on her phone. She shook her head, laughing. “You and Grey, can’t take you with me anywhere!”

She grinned, sheepish. “I miss him, what can I say?” Her dark eyes lighted on the bag. “Ooh, you got something!”

“For Uncle Aemon. Also a story lead, I’ll be busy tonight, that alright?” She wondered if it wuld be okay if Missandei came, but her friend was already cutting her off.

“I booked a massage at the hotel spa, my shoulders are killing me. Besides, I know how you get when you’er on the trail of a hot story.” Missandei teased, wiggling her eyebrows, the two of them walking along the sidewalk towards a café they’d found the previous day. “And I saw that hottie talking to you in there. You got yourself a date, didn’t you?”

Dany flushed, laughing. “No! It’s just a story. He knows my uncle, crazy enough.”

“Small world.”

“Yup. Now come on, I’m freezing!”

“Youre freezing? I was sitting out here on the phone!”

They laughed, walking off together, Dany briefly glancing over her shoulder towards the small shop, her heart fluttering nervously about whatever lay in wait for the evening.

* * *

  
“You look nice.”

“I wasn’t sure what one wore to a Yule celebration.”

Jon held open the door to a fancy SUV, gesturing for her to enter. “Just whatever is fine. I’m not sure what you think you’re getting into though.”

She buckled her seatbelt, glancing sideways as he climbed into the driver’s side. “You’re not going to sacrifice me to your Old Gods?”

“We only do that in the spring.”

He said it so blasé she snorted, laughing. He grinned back at her and shrugged again, while she rummaged in her bag, speaking nervously, hoping she didn’t ruin this. “Um, so I don’t know if you know this but I’m…”

“A reporter.” He glanced at her again, eyebrow arching. She flushed. He drove north, towards the outskirts of the city. “I checked you out, it’s fine.” He stumbled over his words. “I mean…I didn’t check you out…I…”

Now it was her turn to smirk. “It’s fine. I told you I’m a bit of a cynic.”

“I’ll make you a believer.”

“In what exactly?”

Jon shrugged, quiet. “In everything.”

They drove quietly out of Winterfell proper, up towards the old castle. Dany watched, fascinated, as Jon waved a badge against a couple cardreaders when they got to the castle itself, allowing entry to what she imagined was a private residence on the grounds. She glanced sideways at him; _who exactly was this guy?_

The SUV stopped outside of a wrought iron gate, open and propped up, large candles in a series of tall candleabras and sconces set up near the entrance. He parked beside a couple other cars and nodded, reaching into the back of the car for a bag. “Come on, we’re here.”

“The Winterfell godswood?” She schooled herself from going _wow_ and followed him, her nice boots crunching the snow under her feet and pulling her coat tighter around her. They ended up in a large clearing a moment later, a few other men and women milling around the biggest and oldest weirwood tree she thought was in existence. It was gnarled, limbs sprouting out and spidering up into the dark sky. It was a clear night, the stars brightly shining down, illuminating the space.

A young woman bounded towards Jon. “Hey you’re here! Oh hi, you must be Dany, the reporter.” She thrust her hand forward. “I’m Arya, nice to meet you. You came into my store.”

“Your store?” she asked, surprised.

Arya smirked. “Yup, my store. And thanks to you I’ve got fifty dragons more in my pocket, can’t believe Jon actually made a sale.”

Dany laughed, glancing sideways at him, seeing he was uncomfortable with the attention. She was introduced to some others, his cousins she learned, an older man who was his uncle, and a young man who was apparently Arya’s boyfriend Gendry. She stood off carefully to the side, watching as they all took candles and approached the weirwood tree, the red sap coming from the trunk initially scary but as she studied it longer, it seemed to move, and she could see in that moment it went from crying to laughing, smiling at everyone as they spoke, in a semi-circle, staring up at the face of the tree while the older man—Ned—spoke about family, friends, and celebrating the change of seasons.

A brief flicker of light in her chest caught, rising further as she witnessed the event unfold, the honoring of the Old Gods for taking them through another year and giving them the time to spend with family and friends. In turn, each one went to the heartree and knelt, or in the case of Bran, who was in a wheelchair, simply wheeled up to it so he could touch the trunk.

After a moment, each person stood and let the next one, all but Gendry. He came over to stand next to her, quiet. “I’m not a strict follower, not like them. Or Jon. He’s the one whose the professor.”

“Professor?” she whispered.

“Aye, he teaches up at the university. Northern history.”

She chuckled; it explained a lot. “And now what?”

Gendry laughed. “Now they eat. They’re wolves you know, these Starks.”

 _Starks_. She supposed she should have seen it earlier, when Jon said that his family had been around since the First Men. Very few families int eh North could truly claim that the way he had. She ran her tongue over her teeth again, glancing up at Gendry. “So I heard there’s a rumor about the Starks.”

“Hmm, there’s lots of rumors, which one did you hear?”

Dany didn’t get a chance to ask him, when Arya ran over, jumping up into his arms. “Come on, time to eat! Also Jon brought the stuff.”

“Stuff?” she echoed.

Arya laughed, hiding her grin as Jon came over, hands in his pockets. She smiled darkly. “Oh Jon’s special super-secret Yuletide tradition of course.”

Now Dany was more intrigued. She followed Jon back through the godswood, bypassing the cars for a path leading to a stone house, lights blazing in the windows. “That was beautiful,” she said, finally. She arched her brows, arms crossed over her chest. “You may not have fully convinced me, but it was definitely pretty.”

“It’s Yule,” he said. He lifted his face up to the dark sky, frowning briefly. “Too many clouds, can’t see the moon. It’d be better with the moon.”

“The Dothraki believe in the power of the stars and the moon,” she said, remembering her ex-boyfriend. It made her think of that, the powerful connection to nature and celebrations with family and friends under the sky. She followed Jon up into the house, instantly swallowed by warmth and light. She shrugged off her coat, glancing around the beautifully decorated space. “Oh wow.”

“My aunt doesn’t celebrate, she’s a Seven follower, but she loves this time of year.” Jon took her coat and hung it up with his. He shoved his hands into his pocket, lifting his shoulders briefly. “And aye, there’s some similarities with Dothraki.” He was curious, eyes sparkling. “How do you know about Dothraki? That’s not a common culture.”

“I studied abroad in Essos. My first boyfriend was Dothraki.” She rolled her eyes. “Arsehole of the highest proportions, but there you have it.”

They moved further into the house, where she met his aunt, who was polite but there was a distinct frostiness from her towards Jon, who simply shrugged and said, “family stuff.” Dany didn’t pry. She was introduced to a few more people, other Northern families, and was wondering what exactly she’d wandered into. After introductions, she cornered Jon in a room with a massive fireplace, grateful for the heat. He hid his smile behind his hand, arms crossed over his chest. “Well, your first Yule. It was pretty you say, any more questions?”

“One.”

“Go ahead.”

Dany glanced back at the family laughing in the other room and stepped closer towards him, her heart thudding, and blood rushing from her head to her feet. Or elsewhere. She came toe-to-toe with him, gazing up, smiling. “You met me just today, argued with me over the traditions of ancient religions, and invited me to your family’s celebration, simply because I haven’t seen one before…even knowing I’m a reporter and might write a story on it, and…I have to ask myself….” She flicked her eyes up to meet his again. He swallowed hard, his throat constricting. “Why?”

He shifted on his feet. “Maybe I like to be right.”

“Or maybe…” She might have been making a huge mistake. She tapped her finger to his chest, her throat going dry. She quirked her lip up with her eyebrow, whispering. “Maybe you asked me here for something else.” After a quiet moment, her eyes widened, waiting, but he said nothing, still staring down at her. It was her turn to gulp. “Or maybe I made a terrible mistake.”

He shook his head quickly, before hse could step backwards, and grabbed her elbow, tugging her towards him again. “No, no you didn’t…I…I just…” He smiled shyly. “I remember Maester Aemon spoke of you. Mentioned his niece in Essos…and you were so…” He shrugged. “Know-it-all maybe? I wanted to show you something different.” He cocked his head. “Did it work?”

She grinned, feeling like teasing. Maybe it was the atmosphere, the camaraderie here. “Maybe you’ll have to wait and see. If I write about it.” She probably wasn’t going to write about it.

Jon smiled again. “Heard you ask Gendry something else.”

“Oh yeah, about the Starks.” Before she could ask, Arya busted in, holding up two steaming mugs. She frowned at them. “What’s that?”

“Jon’s super-secret Yuletide tradition of course!”

Jon took the mugs, handing one to Dany. He lifted his, grinning. “You wanted to know what all those herbs were for, right?”

She sniffed it, remembering how she thought earlier it smelled ike Christmas tea. Except this also had the distinct taste of alcohol. Carefully, with eyes on her, she sipped, and immediately felt flooded with spicy heat, cinnamon and clove and citrus. “Oh my!” She smacked her lips, laughing. “That’s amazing! What is it?”

“It’s a secret recipe, but Jon makes the best wassail in all of Westeros.” Arya smirked, crossing her arms. “And he uses all the ritual ingredients at my store too.”

“That’s what you were doing with them!”

“What’d you think I was going to do with them?” He tossed her words from earlier back to her. “Sacrifice someone to the Old Gods?”

“Maybe.” She sipped more of the wassail, cradling the mug in her hands, all fuzzy now. “Damn, that’s good.”

Arya elbowed Jon and loudly whispered. “She’s a cute one Jon, you should keep her.” And even as Jon’s cheeks flamed red—perhaps from the wassail—she leaned in and spoke. “You’er the first one he ever brought to a Yule celebration.”

“She’s Maester Aemon’s niece!”

“Sure Jon.”

“I am,” Dany tried to said, to help out, but Arya bounced offa gain. She glanced at Jon, eyebrows up. “Does she always do that?”

“Come and go as she pleases? Aye, that’s Arya.” Jon shifted again, smiling softly. “Maybe I did bring you here under false pretenses.”

“It’s fine.” She leaned in and lightly pressed her lips against his, surprised at her boldness. Maybe it was Yule. Or the wassail. A second later, she leaned back, glad to see that he wasn’t put off, his pupils dark and wide, drowning out the gray irises. She sipped some more wassail and after a few more seconds, remembered what she still wanted to know. “Oh! So that thing about the Starks.”

“Aye?”

She wrinkled her nose. “You know I don’t believe int his sort of thing, but…the wolf thing? True?”

Jon cocked his head, his arm dropping to lightly wrap around her waist. She stepped into his chest, still waiting for his reaction. He took another pull from his wassail and swallowed, smacking his lips. “Well, you’re the cynic. If it were true, you wouldn’t believe, would you?”

“Maybe not.”

“So then it doesn’t matter if it’s true or not, right?”

Dany smirked. He was hedging. It was all just a big story, something to add to the mystery and the allure, she supposed. She tapped his chest with the mug. “It’s not true. You don’t really turn into wolves.”

“No,” he answered. He rolled his eyes. “We don’t turn into wolves.”

“I knew it. That’s all just stories.”

“But there is a wolf connection.”

“Duh.” The entire place was surrounded by stone wolves, paintings of wolves, and other associated wolf paraphernalia. They lived in the Wolfwood after all. She turned away from him, as Ned called for everyone to come sit down for the Yule feast. She pointed at him. “You’re not a real wolf.”

His lips twitched, eyes flashing red momentarily. She blinked. Maybe it was the trick of the light.

He shrugged, walking by her and taking her mug to refill her wassail. “You’ll never know.”

Dany paused, watching him and then shook her head, laughing. “No way.” She ran after him, taking a seat beside him and gazed up a few minutes later, glad she’d wandered into that dark little shop. She had a feeling that this was not going to be her last Yuletide celebration. Nor did she really want it to be, either, she thought, later that evening, when Jon kissed her goodnight, tasting of wassail and promise for something different in the coming year.


End file.
